


The Seeds of Desire (It's All Greek To Me)

by sadieb798



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Bingo, Demeter! Brownie, Dionysus! Fleury, Fluff and Humor, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades! Jamie, Hera! Evgeni, Humor, M/M, Persephone! Tyler, Poseidon! Jordie, Trope Bingo Round 1, Trope Bingo Round 2, Zeus! Sidney
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-17 01:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: Two gods walk into a bar and come up with a bet that's guaranteed to teach the two people they love a lesson they'll won't ever forget.That's it, that's the joke.





	1. If you have half a brain

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few people to blame for this.
> 
> My cousin for introducing me to the _Percy Jackson_ series, and the combined efforts of [venvephe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe/bookmarks) and [forsciencejohn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsciencejohn) for getting me into the Stars, hockey, this ship, and this Bingo.
> 
> Let's be honest: this whole thing was inevitable.

Just a stone throw’s away from the gates of Olympus, the God of Wine’s Hawaiian-themed bar, The Bamboo Porthole, is busier than usual.

Nymphs, dryads, an odd god or two, and satyrs are all gathered inside the wood-paneled hut bumping elbows. Some are drinking heavily, making out or grinding against each other on the dancefloor, while _The Piña Colada Song_ plays on loop above them. It’s warm inside from the body heat, but not unpleasantly so, and the smells of sweaty musk and intoxicating perfumes mingle in the air, promising a night of debauchery.

From his seat at the bar, Brownie’s enjoying a goblet of sweet, sweet ambrosia. He’s pleasantly buzzed and trying to get to roaring drunk, but it’s slow going.

“Brownie!” exclaims a boisterous voice behind him, interrupting his contemplation of the amber liquid in his goblet. Brownie lifts his eyes just in time to see none other than Jordie Benn saddling up onto the stool on his right.

“You’re looking _good!”_ Jordie says, giving Brownie’s back a slap of camaraderie. Jordie’s dark eyes are bright with humor, his cheeks rosy red from drinking, and his red beard looks fuller and bushier than it was the last time Brownie saw him.

“Well, if it isn’t the God of Water,” Brownie acknowledges with a smirk, tipping his goblet of ambrosia at the god in question.

Jordie’s smile falters, but the humor in his eyes remains strong. “Ah ah,” he tuts, wagging a finger. “That’s _The Lord and Ruler of the Sea_ and _the Friendly Sea_ to you, o Master of Corn.”

“Harvest,” grumbles Brownie into his drink as he takes a gulp. Jordie ignores him and motions to the barkeep for a goblet of his own.

“So,” Jordie starts, once he has his drink in hand. He’s angling his body towards Brownie and looks nonchalant. “What brings the God of Harvest to Fleury’s place?”

Brownie scoffs. “The God of Springtime,” he answers with a mockingly light tone.

The God of the Sea’s ginger eyebrows raise. “Seguin? What’s he done now?”

“What _hasn’t_ he done?” replies Brownie with a put-upon sigh, shaking his head. “He keeps me up most nights with his partying and it’s really starting to show in my work.”

“Sounds rough,” Jordie says, wincing.

“And you?” Brownie asks, nodding at the other god. “What brings your seaweed brain in here?”

Jordie rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Jamie, as usual.”

“And what’s got the God of the Underworld’s panties in a twist?” Brownie asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“ _Nothing!_ ” his companion exclaims, throwing out an arm, sloshing his ambrosia and nearly drenching a nymph dancing past. “I’ve invited him out _dozens_ of times this _millennia_ , but the god doesn’t wanna get as far as the Styx!”

“Sounds tragic,” Brownie mutters, taking another gulp of his drink.

“It _is!”_ Jordie insists, gaining steam. “I keep trying to get him out of his hell hole - have a little fun, eh? But n _ooo_ ! Chubbs just keeps standing me _up!”_

Brownie shakes his head, his brain feeling a little fuzzy. “I wish I had your problem,” he admits. “Seggy could use a stint or two in Tartarus.”

There’s a pause between the two gods as the words sink in. Above them, _The Piña Colada Song_ continues to play, the words and notes drifting idly over the heads of the partygoers like birds.

_I’ve got to meet you by tomorrow noon,_

_And cut through all this red tape_

_At a bar called O’Malley’s_

_Where we’ll pla--n our Escape_

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Jordie asks conspiratorially, listing closer towards his companion.

“Dunno,” Brownie admits, the corners of his lips turning upwards into a grin. “Tell me what you think and I’ll see if you’re right.”


	2. Open up your gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Segs,” Jordie begins, mischief in his voice. “Brownie here tells me you’re always up for a dare.”
> 
> Tyler grunts an affirmative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Locked In" for Bennguin Bingo!

It doesn’t take Tyler long to find his best friend inside The Bamboo Porthole - he’d recognize that shitty haircut Brownie’s been sporting for eons a mile away. 

Then it’s just a matter of dancing through the gyrating crowd over to Brownie, ignoring the interested looks pointed his way as he does so. Tyler bites his lower lip to keep the smile on his face restrained as he tiptoes up behind his best friend. He waits for the right time to pounce; just as Brownie’s taking a large sip of ambrosia, he strikes.

“Hey!” Tyler shouts, grinning madly and slapping his hands down onto Brownie’s shoulders, making him flinch and for his drink to go up his nose.

Tyler can’t help cackling as Brownie covers his nose and mouth, trying to contain the mess as he coughs repeatedly.

“You never  _ could _ handle your ambrosia, Ty,” chirps Jordie, which makes Tyler notice him for the first time. The God of the Sea’s leaning languidly against the bar, a coconut head goblet in hand and wearing a grass skirt as he surveys Tyler and Brownie with dark, half-lidded eyes.

“Hey Benny,” Tyler greets, shooting one of The Big Three a grin. “Good to see you!”

“Likewise,” replies Jordie, giving him a smile.

“Though the beard could use a trim,” Tyler adds, smirking. Jordie snorts in response.

“That’s bold coming from someone wearing a flower crown,” he chirps back, and Tyler mock-gasps.

“Hey,” he says, feigning offense. He lifts a hand to the crown on his head, woven from green garlands with brilliant cobalt blue larkspur and the delicate white lilies that are currently in season. “I’ll have you know  _ everyone _ loves my crowns.”

“What the  _ hell _ man?” Brownie finally manages to cough out, turning on his stool and pointing a glare at Tyler.

“What’re you doing here?” Tyler asks in return, looking around the place. “Not that Flower’s place isn’t nice, but I thought we were gonna go to Beau’s.”

“No way, bro,” Brownie replies, shivering dramatically. “I can’t handle another random orgy at The Love Palace, not after last time.”

“It’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Tyler defends, but his friend just raises an eyebrow at him. “ _ Okay _ , so last week was a  _ bit _ much - ”

“A bit!” Brownie nearly shouts. “You were balls deep in a - ”

“ _ Gods, _ come on,” Jordie chastises, effectively silencing them both.

Tyler turns his attention away from his friend to the God of the Sea, who is giving them a challenging look. He holds two more coconut heads of the familiar nectar in each hand with little pink umbrellas and raises a bushy eyebrow. “There’s no need to squabble about the past. Tonight the night is young, and there is ambrosia to drink. Better hustle, boys.”

And really, who is Tyler to deny one of The Big Three?

* * *

It’s not even an hour later before Tyler’s at that stage of drunk where everything’s warm and fuzzy, and any suggestion made within earshot sounds like a great idea. Honestly he’s _ so _ in love with everyone at this bar, he just wants to make them all crowns of their favorite flowers - especially that one person who gave him a lei. He loves them, whoever they were.

“So, Segs,” Jordie begins, mischief in his voice.

Tyler hums, his voice rumbly in his chest. He’s draped over the smooth polished bar top, his head resting on his right arm, while he runs his fingers over the warm wood and the tiki skirt fringe. He peers up at Jordie beneath the crown tilted over his eyes. The God of the Sea is sitting between him and Brownie, a blue lei around his neck, and staring down at Tyler with eyes gleaming from the tiny lanterns strung up all over the ceiling. His beard is bright red, like fire in the wooden tropical hut of a bar. 

_ He should be the god of  _ fire, _ not water,  _ Tyler thinks. The corners of Jordie’s lips quirk upwards.

“Brownie here tells me you’re always up for a dare,” he says. Tyler grunts an affirmative. 

“Told ya,” Brownie pipes up from Jordie’s left as he takes another drink, but is ignored by both other gods.

“Then settle a bet for us,” Jordie coaxes, leaning forward on an elbow and practically looming over Tyler. “I know for a  _ fact _ , that the pomegranates my brother grows down in Tartarus are the most delicious fruit in all the world. But your bro here’s never tasted one.”

Brownie shrugs. “Guilty as charged.”

“And he - foolishly, I might add - thinks that apples are the most delicious fruit!  _ Apples!” _ Jordie exclaims, outraged. “Can you imagine?”

“ _ Hello _ , God of Harvest here,” Brownie interjects, pointing at himself. “I  _ know _ what I’m talking about.”

“So whaz the bet?” Tyler slurs, lifting himself to sitting, the room tilting back into the right direction as he does so.

“I bet Brownie a hippocampi if he admits that pomegranates are the superior fruit.”

Tyler blinks, then looks across Jordie over at his bestie. “You get a  _ seahorse?” _ he asks, incredulously. Brownie shrugs.

“Yeah. So?”

“You can’t swim.”

“Do  _ you _ have a seahorse, Tyler?” Brownie demands, getting flustered. “Do  _ you?” _

“Okay, okay,” Tyler concedes, admitting it sounds fair. “So whaddya bet him?”

“A favor of his choice,” his friend admits.

“M’kay,” Tyler says, drawing out the word. “Whaz in it for me?”

“Well, we need an outsider to be our go-between,” Jordie points out. “I can’t be the one to get the fruit, cuz Brownie’s so sure I’ll tamper with it, and I don’t trust Brownie as far as I can throw him. Besides, my brother - as much as I love him - won't just  _ give _ me a pomegranate, I have to  _ earn it. _ ” Jordie releases his hold on his coconut head goblet to form air quotes over the two words.

“Still not seeing it.”

The gods share a look that,  _ sober  _ Tyler would be able to decipher.  _ Drunk _ Tyler? Not so much. Jordie shrugs; Brownie orders an extra goblet, and slides it down the bar over to Tyler. “Free ambrosia for life _ and _ a favor of your choice?” he tries.

Tyler doesn’t even stop to think about it. “What would I have ta do?” he asks, taking the coconut head from Brownie’s fingers.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it,” Brownie continues, drawing out the anticipation, his eyes aglow. “Is to go down to Tartarus, take a pomegranate fruit from Jamie’s personal garden, and bring it back up here to us. But you  _ cannot get caught by Jamie _ , otherwise deal’s off.”

“Up for it?” Jordie asks, raising a challenging eyebrow. 

Tyler studies the amber liquid in his drink, staring at the ripples gleaming gold from the overhead lights. He chugs the whole goblet down. The nectar is sweet as it rushes down his throat, but a full goblet of ambrosia for all of eternity plus a favor from his best friend would taste even sweeter.

“A’ight,” Tyler gasps once he’s done. He slams his coconut down onto the wooden bar top, the cup  _ thunk- _ ing with the impact. “I’ll do it.”

* * *

There’s a pain in Tyler’s head that feels an awful lot like a giant blade  _ sloooowly _ being inserted into his forehead.

Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. He realizes his throat is as parched as sand, and when he licks his lips, they’re chalky. He’s lying on his side, sprawled out on what he guesses is grass, going off the texture brushing against his skin. He feels like death warmed over. His hangovers aren’t usually this bad, and he’d curse Jordie and Brownie both for making him drink all three of their weights if he could just  _ think _ .

Over the next few minutes, the throbbing in his head eases fractionally, much to his relief. When he’s ready, Tyler opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is a blade of grass that’s blue.

He blinks, trying to focus his vision and dissolve the hallucination, but the color remains: the grass he’s lying on is a shock of cerulean. Rolling onto his back, he stares up into the branches of trees that stretch high over his head. Oddly enough, the bark of the trees are umber, and it looks as though they were once two trees but are now woven together. Their leaves are a dark green, that gradually glow as they get closer towards the light above him. 

Tyler rises into a sitting position, his pain momentarily brushed aside. He slowly gets to his feet, standing tall with the unfamiliar grass tickling beneath his toes. He begins to walk through the small orchard, noting with interest that the light of the space isn’t golden yellow like the light he’s come to know, but instead it’s light blue, almost like ice. But the air isn’t cold,  _ or  _ warm, instead there’s no temperature at all - completely neutral.

He looks this way and that as he takes curious steps forwards, walking a path already forged between the trees. That’s when Tyler notices the fruit.

They’re large and round like a ball, their color a rich deep ruby, reminding him of the fine wine Flower prides himself on. Curious, he steps over to the closest tree, staring at the strange fruit. He tilts his head, forehead creased as he studies the smooth texture that would be better suited to a vase, and the odd bud squarely in the middle of the massive fruit pointing downwards. Despite his best friend being the god of crops and soil, and famous throughout harvest time among the mortals, Tyler’s never seen fruit like this before.

That’s when his stomach grumbles.

Tyler glances down quickly at his stomach, frowning. Then the pain of his hangover hits him full force, reminding him of its presence. He squeezes his eyes shut as an explosion of pain bursts behind his eyelids, and his abdomen cramps in neglect. He tries to conjure up saliva if only to wet his throat, but his tongue is absurdly dry. Unable to stand it anymore, Tyler opens his eyes and stares determinedly at the closest fruit in his line of vision.

He doesn’t spare a second’s thought as he stretches his arm out and plucks it off its branch.

The fruit fits in the palm of his hand, curiously matching the size perfectly. He distributes it between both hands, his fingertips grazing its surface like he’s molding clay, amazed by how thick and hard it is -  _ exactly _ like a hard ball! - and appreciating the craftsmanship that went into creating such a unique item.  _ I don’t even know how to eat this, _ he thinks out of nowhere.

Raising an eyebrow he studies it, his fingers running over the ridges making up the dimensions, and noting the smoothness separating each one. He stares at the budded bottom, contemplating. Holding the fruit in one hand, he reaches for the belt tied around his waist, and into the pocket attached where he keeps a small knife. Taking both fruit and knife in hand, Tyler kneels back down onto the blue lawn and sits with crossed legs. Using his dominant hand, he sticks the tip of his knife into the core of the bud and rotates the fruit with his other, until he’s carved a circle into the skin along the stem protruding from the bottom. 

The bud and its stem pop off, revealing a small crater the color of faded parchment. He turns the fruit upside-down and gives the top the same treatment. Once that’s done, he presses the tip of his knife along each ridge, making sure not to puncture further than the skin, following the natural shape of the fruit. Once he’s finished scoring, he sets the knife down at his side, and holds it between his hands, pressing his thumbs hard down into the center of the small crater.

The fruit splinters open with a  _ crack. _

Tyler holds the now separated fruit, a quarter of it in his right hand, and the larger portion in his left. He sets the rest of the fruit down in the space between his crossed legs, and focuses in on the quarter. Strangely enough, the inside of the fruit is almost a soft yellow, and the portion overflowing with round seeds that are dark red, as large and perfectly formed as beads. He lifts it higher towards his face, staring intently at the surprisingly large seeds.

He stares until his stomach rumbles again, reminding him of how hungry he is.

Using his thumb and forefinger, Tyler pinches a seed, lifts it away from the rest of its companions before sticking it into his mouth and takes a bite.

The juice explodes on his tongue, the taste tart and sharp. But it’s good; it’s  _ surprisingly _ delicious.

Tyler doesn’t hesitate this time: he picks out a few more seeds, sticks them into his mouth and begins to chew, his tongue chasing after the sweetness of the juice and drinking it up with satisfaction. He doesn’t even finish chewing before he’s plucking more of the round beads from their crevice and sticking them into his mouth. Before he knows it, the quarter he’d separated is cleaned off. He discards it, but it’s as he’s reaching for the rest of the cut fruit that he’s interrupted.

_ “What are you doing?” _ shouts a man’s voice from behind Tyler, startling him into dropping the rest of his fruit; the delicious seeds spilling out from inside and rolling onto the blue blades of grass.

He twists his body around and that’s when he spots the man a couple of feet behind him.

The man’s standing as still as a statue, a little further down the path Tyler’d been walking on. He’s stocky, all broad shoulders and strong, thick muscular legs that look as though they could break apart one of these strange fruits without much effort, or possibly even the trunk of a tree. His skin is a pale milky white, with short, dark black hair that’s slicked back save for some strands at his hairline escaping their hold and curling over his forehead. His jaw is soft, but there’s a controlled strength there. Dark facial hair has grown above his upper lip and along his chin. He’s dressed from head to toe in midnight blue.

His large brown eyes with criminally long lashes stare at Tyler in horror.

They stay like that for what feels to Tyler like ten minutes, before he begins to feel awkward and needing to say something.

“Hey,” he greets with a small wave of his crimson-stained hands, not knowing what else to do.

The man blinks at him.

“Quick question,” Tyler tacks on, sniffing slightly. “What is this fruit called? It’s  _ delicious _ .” He can’t help but to add another cluster of seeds he’d managed to save from their fall into his mouth. That seems to make things worse as the other man looks like he’s two seconds away from fainting.

“H-how many of those seeds have you had?” he asks, voice surprisingly deep but gentle.

Tyler stares down at said seeds in the palm of his hand, pursing his lips in thought before giving a shrug. “Dunno. Four or five, maybe?” He cups his hand, and pours the remaining seeds directly into his mouth. “Why?” he asks as he chews with his mouth full.

“Because that’s a pomegranate fruit,” replies the man, staring down at its remains scattered around Tyler’s feet. Tyler shapes the word on his lips, savoring it as the stranger continues his explanation.

“And eating a pomegranate fruit means you can never leave the Underworld,” informs the man, giving a painful wince. Tyler’s jaw drops.

“What?” he asks, lips quirking upwards into a nervous smile as his heart thuds with panic. “You’re joking, right?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t joke about my laws,” he informs soberly.

“Wait,” Tyler says, his brain catching up with what was said and reading between the lines in that sentence. “Wait a minute. Does that mean you’re - ”

“Yeah,” admits the stranger with a long-suffering sigh, his shoulders sagging. He lifts a hand and gestures at himself, giving Tyler a small, self-depreciating smile. “Jamie Benn, Lord of the Underworld, at your service.”

“Oh,  _ hell,”  _ Tyler laments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listed under _Things I Never Thought I'd have to Research to Write About:_ Pomegranates. The research I did on pomegranates for this chapter was _ridiculous_. I hope you guys appreciate it.


	3. I seen the sun coming up at the funeral at dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look,” Jordie starts with a sigh, before brightening, “think of him as a new roommate! Except that he can’t leave...ever.”
> 
> “That doesn’t help!” Jamie cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's already clear, but just to put it out there: only the Big Three are related by blood. Okay, carry on.
> 
> For my "Accidental Marriage" bingo space!

“Somebody _has_ to know _something,”_ Jamie insists.

In front of him, the mist showing his annoying big brother gives a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Chubbs,” he replies, totally unconcerned.

Jamie pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to take a breath.

It’s cold in the darkened cavern, and it doesn’t help that there’s a giant gushing waterfall a yard away from him that sends out cool drops of water in his direction. Save for the tall silvery waterfall, there’s no other light inside the cave, and as Jamie stands on a rocky outcrop directly above the black water of the Styx, he shivers slightly underneath his robes, wishing he were anywhere else in his realm. But the mist of the waterfall is the only way he can communicate with the Above, and he needs answers on how the freaking God of _Springtime_ managed to get down into the Underworld without him noticing.

“One minute Tyler was with me and Brownie at the Porthole,” Jordie continues from the warm comfort of his underwater home, and Jamie can see a tropical fish swim past behind him, “and the next, he was gone.”

“I _still_ don’t understand how this could even happen,” Jamie fusses, running a hand through his hair. The oils he’d used to slick it back earlier are gone by now, and - much to his annoyance - a section falls into his face.

“It’s a complete mystery to me,” Jordie responds, but doesn’t _sound_ mystified.

“Any word from Sid?” asks Jamie desperately.

“Ah, yes, our esteemed king Sidney seems to have gone from Olympus,” Jordie says offhandedly. The God of the Underworld frowns.

“Gone?” he repeats, panic rising in his throat. “What do you mean, _gone?”_

“I mean he and Geno have decided to take a second honeymoon,” Jord explains, examining the three spear tips of the trident in his hands with great concentration. Jamie honestly can’t believe how nonchalant he’s being about this; even the _sea_ is affected by the seasons.

“Again?” Jamie asks instead. Jordie shrugs.

“You know how it goes,” he says, picking at one of the tips with his pinched fingers. “Once a millennia, they’re off the face of the world. Anyway, no one seems to know where they went. My money’s that they took human forms and are down visiting the mortals.”

Jamie puts his head in his hands and groans, the noise echoing back at him from the cave’s damp walls. It doesn’t help with his headache.

“What am I supposed to _do_ with him?” he finally manages to ask.

“Just hold him there ‘til Sid gets back, then we can figure something out.”

“And what does Brownie have to say about all this?”

“Brown’s thrilled,” Jordie gives him a cheeky grin. “Says he’s tired of being Seggy’s keeper, and he could use a break.”

Jamie scowls at his brother. “Isn’t it due to be spring soon?”

“Not for a few months,” Jordie says, continuing to clean his spotless trident. “Besides, Brownie says he can keep the harvest going longer if he needs to.”

“How are you _not_ freaking out about this?” Jamie demands, aggravation rising up in his chest. He gives into the emotion and throws up his hands. “ _Why_ aren’t you both more _concerned?_ This is _serious_ , Phillip!”

“Oy!” Jordie shouts, eyebrows drawn together, eyes blazing. His languid grasp on the trident tightens into a white-knuckled grip.

“One, _don’t_ call me Phillip,” he snarls, holding up a finger. “Two, the reason we’re not concerned is because if Segs _had_ to get trapped with another god, we’re glad it’s _you_.” Jordie’s dark eyes soften, and he looks down at his lap; all fiery defenses lowered. “There are worse places to be trapped in, little brother. We both know that.”

All arguments die on Jamie’s lips. He averts his gaze, and the brothers fall silent. The rushing waterfall is the only noise inside the cavern, as the distant memory of being swallowed whole, and living inside a dark pit for years consumes them. Jamie shakes his head, dissipating the past. His brother’s words flatter him to be sure, but it doesn’t fix the issue of _who_ Jamie’s stuck with.

“I’m _sorry,_ it’s just that I _can’t_ look after this guy, Jords,” he agonizes, well aware of the God of Springtime’s reputation as a party animal, and not looking forward to dealing with _that_ . “I’ve got the whole _Underworld_ to tend to - ”

“Chubbs,” his brother interrupts, giving him a flat look. “I say this with love, but who’re you kidding? You’ve got things running so smoothly down there, you don’t even have to lift a _finger_ \- it practically runs itself! Besides, you have the rookies. They can look after things while you’re with him.”

“Yeah, but what if - ”

“I don’t know, just - ” Jordie flounders, trying to find the right words and obviously getting frustrated, “put him somewhere he can’t get into trouble while you do your job!”

Jamie snaps his gaze away, fighting down a blush that threatens to spread across his cheeks. “Easier said than done,” he mutters. His brother has the good grace to look sympathetic, at least.

“Look,” Jordie starts with a sigh, before brightening, “think of him as a new roommate! Except that he can’t leave...ever.”

“That doesn’t help!” Jamie cries, his own echo mocking him.

“Relax,” his brother urges. “I’ll talk to you again once I’ve got an update. Jords out.”

Then the image vanishes, leaving the God of the Underworld alone in blackness.

“Great,” he mutters to the shadows.

* * *

Jamie slowly treads back to where he left his uninvited guest.

He made the rookies look after the God of Springtime, if only so Jamie could have the peace and quiet he needed to panic at his brother. He passes through a long dark corridor, where tall, midnight-blue columns and cherry wood archways lead to different passages of the Underworld, lining both sides. His steps are silent on the hardwood floor; instead of the echoes of the souls being tortured in Tartarus bouncing off the high arched ceilings above his head, it’s only silence.

 _What can I even_ do _to entertain Tyler?_ Jamie wonders as he continues his steps. That thought leaves him concerned and distressed, his brow breaking out into a sweat and his heart pounding in his chest. For gods’ sake, he’s the God of the Underworld! The last time he been invited to a party, it had been _disastrous -_ the party hadn’t even _started_ and he’d been asked to leave! He’s the _last_ god in Olympus that would know how to entertain someone that wasn’t Jordie or Sidney.

He comes to the great hall, a giant open room that is the heart of his kingdom of the Underworld. Tyler’s sitting cross-legged a couple of feet from Jamie’s carved throne and the unlit hearth in the center of the room, surrounded by rookies. There are a few that are quiet and standing sentry far enough away from Tyler that he won’t be bothered by them, while two more are sitting close to the god, watching rapt as he constructs a wreath of green from thin air.

Jamie slows his steps. He stands, just on the periphery of the social circle and watches as the god interacts with his shadowy workers. There are few souls in the whole of the Underworld that show them any kindness, and seeing his unanticipated guest treat them with the same gentleness as Jamie does takes him aback. Of course, every god has a reputation on Olympus: Jamie’s been cast into the role as the distant Lord of the Underworld, cloaked in death, while Tyler is the whimsical and reckless god known for sunshine and flowers - and his infamous behavior as a party animal, rivaling that of the God of Wine.

But Tyler - with a crown made of flowers resting on his chestnut curls, dressed in a mint-green chiton, and an obnoxiously bright pink lei wrapped around his neck - looks so soft and gentle he walks the rookies through how to weave the green vines in his hands into a circle.

Jamie doesn’t know how long he stands there watching, but eventually, Tyler lifts his head and spots him. He seems if it were possible, to brighten even more once he sees Jamie. Once they realize their lord is in the room, the rookies dissipate like plumes of dark smoke - going back to work, it seems. Tyler scrambles to his feet, the crown he’d been making forgotten on the floor as he steps over towards Jamie.

“Any news?” Tyler asks, hopeful, once he’s standing in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says, shaking his head mournfully. “Sid’s gone on his second honeymoon and no one can get in touch with him.”

“Oh,” Tyler utters, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. “Well. What did Brownie say?”

“He can keep up the harvest going for as long as you’re stuck down here,” answers Jamie dutifully, choosing not to repeat the rest of Jordie’s message. He knows how close Tyler and Brownie are.

Tyler purses his lips together in thought for a moment, then huffs a breath. “Okay,” he acquises, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“I don’t get very many guests,” Jamie admits after a few moments of tense silence. He averts his eyes from the god and fidgets. “So I don’t exactly have a place for you to sleep.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Tyler sasses with irritation. “Where am I supposed to stay?”

“I’ll show you to my quarters - ” Jamie starts, only to be cut off.

“Whoa, no,” Tyler objects, his face pinches in panic and a pink flush of anger dusts his cheeks. The outburst takes Jamie by surprise, and his eyebrows climb his forehead.

Tyler makes a slashing motion through the air with his hand and backs away from him. “ _No_ , dude, _no._ I am _not_ down to fuck, and if you think for even one _second_ that you can try _anything_ with me, you’re gonna get another think coming.”

A blush spreads across Jamie’s cheeks at the implication. “I, uh,” he clears his throat, his hand coming up to rub his neck. “I-I’m not down to...for _that_ , either. I promise, I’m not going to touch you. I won’t do anything to you without your permission.”

Tyler raises a skeptical eyebrow, his mouth a hard line.

“I swear,” Jamie asserts firmly. Tyler only stares at him, hazel eyes considering.

Jamie takes that opportunity to back off, turning around and leading the way back through the cavernous corridor. After a moment or two, he hears his guest’s footsteps, following a good distance behind him. They only have to walk a little further before Jamie stops in front of a large door that towers high over their heads. He waits until Tyler’s next to him and chances a glance at the other god. He’s staring at the one side of the dark wooden archway on Jamie’s right, his face completely drained of color.

Jamie hunches forward, uncomfortable and nervous. He knows that the graphically depicted scenes of death carved into the ebony wood are a lot to take in - he felt the same way the first time he’d seen the place after letting Jordie pick that awful decorator. But to their credit, they knew how to make the Underworld look... _underworld-y_ , and the craftsmanship alone is breathtaking to behold.

Shaking the thought away, Jamie lifts his hand towards the door and lets it hover for a moment, allowing the doorway to get a proper scan of his hand. Once it’s satisfied that it’s him, a doorknob grows from the door, and the God of the Underworld only has to reach out and turn the dark wood in his hands before the smaller, hidden door gives way. The sight of his familiar room eases some of the tension he has in his breast, but another surge of panic wells up at the thought that his guest might not like where he’s going to be staying for the next foreseeable future.

Jamie opens the door all the way for Tyler, and steps aside, hiding his face from his guest’s eyes.

“This,” Tyler starts, pausing as he searches for an adjective, “is...unexpected.”

“Um, yeah,” Jamie allows, unsure of what Tyler means by the word. “Well, the whole place is doom and gloom out there, and I just wanted someplace that’s a little more...me.”

He lifts his eyes briefly from the floor to take in Tyler’s expression. There’s still shock on his face, to be sure, but the defensive line in his stance has eased somewhat and he looks a bit relaxed. Jamie silently closes the door behind them.

* * *

_This is_ definitely _unexpected_ , is what Tyler thinks once he starts taking in Jamie’s chambers.

Unlike the rest of what he’s seen of the Underworld - which has a color scheme of indigo, midnight-black, and ice - the sitting room he finds himself in is oddly... _comfortable_.

The walls are painted in an oak brown color, with a white trim, that adds a warmth to the place, while directly in their line of sight is a worn leather sectional couch and a small table with a cream marble tabletop and a base carved from what looks like oak. There are furry throw rugs set out all over the place that all match the decor: some are a dark chocolate brown color mixed in with black are spread out on the floor, while a particular white monstrosity is draped on one of the arms of the couch.

Tyler glances towards their right, where there’s a black painted wall, with a rack attached that contains strange-looking yet carefully arranged sticks. Beside it are shoes with an oddly shaped addition that runs from the toes to the heel, dangling on hooks from long strings. Directly in the center, hanging between the shoes and the sticks is a poster with a soft yellow background, and in the very center, a small black kitten dangles from a tree branch, with an encouraging _Hang in there, Baby!_ printed in white on the side.

“It’s...nice,” Tyler says at last.

“Thanks,” the God of the Underworld mumbles next to him. Then he moves from Tyler’s side, passing the couch and heading towards the back of the enormous room where a modest four-poster bed fit for a king resides, the wood a polished mahogany with white pillows and blankets and a caramel colored fur lying on top.

Despite the oddness of the situation, Tyler is curious enough to edge a little closer into the chamber and see what his host is up to.

Jamie fusses around the bed for a bit, gathering up what looks like clothes for sleeping from the vanity standing a few feet away. Then he goes to a dark dresser and a wide closet Tyler hadn’t noticed, pulling out sheets, and adding them to the pile in his arms.

“Um, so the rookies changed the sheets and pillows for you,” Jamie explains, obviously flustered as he tries to balance his bounty. “So the bed’s yours until...whenever.”

The god steps back into the sitting area Tyler’s standing in, passing him entirely, giving him a mile’s worth of space and making a beeline for the couch.

“Unfortunately I don’t have any other rooms in the place,” he apologizes, and going from his tone, Tyler’s got a feeling that Jamie’s planning on fixing that as soon as possible. “So I’m gonna just take the couch.”

Jamie starts setting up his makeshift bed: snapping the sheets open and tucking them deep into the long seat of the right arm chaise, before adding his pillow and rearranging the cushions around it.

Tyler watches him for a few moments, as a corner of the sheet stubbornly refuses to stay in its place, and comes undone. He slowly inches his way to Jamie’s side, making the other god go still by his proximity. He catches the corner, and tucks it deep beneath the cushion and smooths it out with his hand.

“Thanks,” Jamie murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” Tyler nods, and together they finish setting up the bed.

“Well, um,” Jamie says, pulling back once they’re finished. He keeps walking backward until he’s standing a good foot away from the end of right arm chaise. Tyler, intrigued, stares, waiting for him to say something more. But Jamie only shifts in place, face lowered and hands clutched together in front of him as he doesn’t make a move to leave the room.

Then it dawns on Tyler that he’s sitting on the armless loveseat section of the couch, right next to Jamie’s makeshift bed.

“Oh, right,” he says, shooting up from his seat, embarrassed. His host visibly breathes a sigh of relief, and Tyler takes that to mean he’d correctly interpreted his discomfort. “Well. Thanks.” He gives an awkward wave as he backtracks to the bed in the back of the chamber.

“No problem,” Jamie replies, giving him an equally awkward wave back. Then he sits down on the couch.

Tyler turns his back, to give him a little bit of privacy and crosses over soft, warm rugs towards the king-sized bed. Once he reaches it, he sits on the edge of the downy bed, the mattress dipping beneath him. He waits a few moments, listening to the sounds of rustling clothing as Jamie changes out of his robes and into something more comfortable. Tyler’s heart thuds in his throat as he waits for the inevitable moment his host changes his mind and storms across his quarters to Tyler, to the bed.

But it doesn’t come.

Rather than storming over, Jamie stays in his self-designated area. There’s the shifting of sheets and the gentle sounds of snoring drifts over to Tyler, and gradually the lights of the chamber dim into a pleasant darkness. It’s an unfamiliar sensation, being promised to be left alone and someone actually following through on it. He shifts backward towards the pillows and reclines, marveling over how the bed changes its shape to suit his body and how soft his headrest is. It’s strange how the odd chambers cast a stark difference compared to Tyler’s home with his hammock, surrounded by flowers, moonlight, and tall trees.

Transparent white drapes attached to the frame of the bed softly flutter downwards on their own, enclosing Tyler and shielding him from the world outside the bed. He shimmies down into the blankets, pulling up the large cream-colored furs up to his neck, engulfed in the warmth. Still uneasy, he reaches down into the pocket of his belt and brings his knife out to rest close by his side, within reaching distance.

After a while, he lets his eyes drift closed and eventually falls into a light sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to [venvephe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe) for coming up with the idea for Jamie's home decor. Any HGTV show would be lucky to have you as an interior decorator.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know guys.


End file.
